


Blue Flowers Blooming

by AetherSeer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, St. Louis Blues, Unplanned Pregnancy, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 21:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20021473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: Colton doesn’t notice, at first. He chalks it up to stress, to a late-season flowering because of the deep Cup run (they won the CUP!).The implications don’t sink in until Colton’s favorite swimsuit gets tighter at the waist halfway through August. A month until training camp starts, and Colton’s eyes go wide, staring down at what is apparently not his usual summer bulk.





	Blue Flowers Blooming

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bloom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003896) by [iaintafraidofnoghostbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear). 



> This particular weird biology is based on the pollination system of water lilies.

It doesn’t feel real, is the thing. Not at first. Not until Factor’s lifting the Conn Smythe with a stunned smile. Not until Petro’s skating toward them with _the Stanley Cup_ in his hands, fireworks bursting into stars behind him. Not until Colton’s own hands grip cool metal and hoist it high, pure elation surging through his veins.

That might be when he started to flower, when the first petals began slipping wide. Colton honestly doesn’t—he doesn’t know when it started, other than _late._ Everyone knows that playoffs coincide with flowering season. Everyone _also_ knows that late flowering is expected with the additional stress, and Colton _really should have taken precautions._

Colton doesn’t notice, at first.

He chalks it up to stress, to a late-season flowering because of the deep Cup run (they won the CUP!). After four seasons in the League, he’s gotten used to the bright furls of color at the apex of his thighs where his dick used to be. But when the colors don’t fade as summer sun shines high overhead, when they brighten and the outer petals grow even more sensitive to touch instead, Colton starts to worry.

The implications don’t sink in until Colton’s favorite swimsuit gets tighter at the waist halfway through August. A month until training camp starts, and Colton’s eyes go wide, staring down at what is apparently _not_ his usual summer bulk.

He turns and looks at himself in profile. His mirror-self stares back, mouth parted in a shocked ‘O’ as he runs fingers over what’s very clearly a visible bump pushing his abs up and out.

A _baby_ bump.

Colton didn’t just _flower_ during the Cup run. He got fucking _pollinated_ during playoffs. And not a League-mandated pollination, clinical and carefully chosen and planned out by a staff equipped to handle the matter.

Colton swallows, watches his mirror-self cup the swell of his belly and drop his suit to the floor. There’s no denying it at this point, his petals closed up tight and tucked away for the season, mission accomplished.

Colton fumbles backward, hand outstretched and groping for his bed. He sits down hard, legs spread to avoid contact with the tightly-furled bud. It looks obscene, reflected in his bedroom mirror, but Colton’s a bit too shellshocked at the minute to care.

Right now, he has another image to consider: his own. Colton’s knocked up with someone’s seedling, but … he doesn’t actually know whose. It’s impossible for it to be a fan’s seedling, given the givens, but … “Please, please don’t let it be a Bruin.”

Colton casts about for his phone, innocuously blinking green with unanswered texts and the group chat notifications. Colton’s thumb hovers over the chat, but swipes it away. The boys will eventually find out, but Colton needs _actual_ advice right now, and 20-odd guys chiming in on Colton getting himself _in the family way_ with a Cup seedling really isn’t going to help the situation at all.

Petro picks up when Colton calls, the laughter in his voice fading to sharp concern when all Colton manages to get out are stuttered breaths.

“Parry, Colton! Talk to me.” Petro orders.

“I’m _blooming,_ ” Colton all but wails. He’s not proud of it, and he can feel his cheeks flood with heat immediately after.

There’s a flurry of noise on Petro’s end, and then the sound of a door closing before silence and just Petro’s voice over the line. “Okay, Colton. You sitting down?”

Colton pats the bedspread beneath him. “Way ahead of you,” he jokes weakly.

“Okay, okay,” Petro soothes. “So you, uh, flowered late, I guess. Later than the rest of us?”

Colton throws an arm over his eyes and squeezes his eyes shut. “Um. I guess. Probably?”

“You don’t know?”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention to my cycle, Petro,” Colton snaps. “We were playing in the _Stanley Cup Finals._ ”

“Hey, hey,” Petro says. And yeah, okay, Petro’s not the one at fault.

“Sorry.”

“Uh huh. So you flowered late, which means … shit, there were a good half-dozen of us cycling during the Finals still. Do you remember who might be the uh, most likely pollinator?”

“No,” Colton admits. Because it could’ve been any of them that had also flowered late in the playoffs. Joel, Ryan, Vladimir, Schenner, fuck, even Petro himself had all been in pollinator mode at the time, if Colton remembers the bitching right.

“Okay.” Petro’s voice is incredibly gentle when he asks, “Do you want to keep it, or are you considering uprooting it?”

Colton rolls to his side, instinctively curling into himself, a hand sliding down to palm the bump. “I don’t think I could uproot it,” he says softly. “It’s—” _mine. My child. A Cup baby._

“Mmhm,” Petro says. “Okay.” He seems to switch into captain mode, then, because Colton’s spine straightens as Petro outlines Colton’s next steps. “You’re gonna have to tell coach and the front office, and definitely set up appointments with the trainers and they’ll send you to specialists. Don’t worry about that; they’ll handle that part. You have to tell your agent first; they’ll be on your side making sure no one gives you shit about an accidental bloom.”

Shit, Colton should be taking notes. He scrambles for the nightstand, coming up with half a pad of post-its and a pen that eventually spits out ink after a few loopy scribbles.

“Petro, what about the team? What do I tell them about—I don’t know who—”

“That’s up to you. Anyone with sense would be lucky to pollinate you. And it’s a Cup seedling, so it’s a sign of a fertile city, and the League can’t deny it.”

Colton’s pen slows, and he cradles the phone in one palm, setting it on speaker. “I’m not worried about the League,” he admits. “I don’t want the guys to think I’m irresponsible.” _Or a stupid kid who got drunk and knocked up partying too much._

“ _No one_ thinks you’re irresponsible,” Petro says fiercely. Colton shivers. Even through the tinny speakers, Petro’s still got that authority. “It takes two to pollinate, and if the cycles had been switched, it very well could’ve been me blooming instead. It was an accident. A happy accident, but an accident. It happens, Parry. And if anyone gives you shit, you come to me or you go to Vladi or Steener.”

“Okay.” It’s not that Colton doesn’t believe Petro. He does. But it’s hard to imagine a world where no one’s upset, where Colton isn’t going to be the near-rookie who fucked things up and partied a little too hard during flowering season.

Petro ends the call promising to send Colton more things to read about what to expect in the next month before everyone starts trickling back to St. Louis for training camp.

… fuck. Colton thunks his head back against the mattress. Colton’s apartment is not set up for a baby. Colton’s _life_ is not set up for a baby. This is gonna need a plan.

Or five.

Or, Colton realizes in a daze three weeks later, the bullheaded determination of his alternate captain to create a proper home for a baby that might not even be his. Vladi’s response to Colton’s hesitant admission was apparently to clear out two bedrooms in his house, one clearly designated as a nursery, and present them when Colton comes over for dinner.

Yana just gives Colton an understanding smile and a firm squeeze to his shoulder when she passes by, her own infant snuffling against her breast. “Vova likes babies,” is all she says.

“Vladi likes babies” might be the understatement of the century, is all Colton can think. Vladi _loves_ children. Adores them. He’d built a mini rink in his basement more for Mark than himself. He’d been over the fucking _moon_ when Sasha mini-me was born, and again with their youngest, who Yana’s nursing on the couch, and now Colton might be carrying mini-Vladi No. 3. Maybe. There’s like a 20% chance.

Twenty percent is apparently more than enough of a chance for Vladi to claim this baby as his own, at least to the point where Colton’s staying at the Tarasenkos’ house more and more, until the season starts and Colton realizes that he hasn’t been back to his apartment in a week.

Yana laughs when Colton brings it up. “He’s very good at that, isn’t he. That’s how he took over making dinner, too.”

And it’s not like Colton hasn’t noticed, that, either.

Yana shakes her head at Colton and hands him the baby so she can start putting together lunch for everyone but Mark, who’s back at school. Colton adjusts with the ease of weeks of practice, balancing Artem against his chest.

Artem gums at Colton’s fingers when Colton brushes over his cheek. “Is he almost ready for like, baby food?”

Yana looks up from her chopping. “Not yet, but soon, I think. He likes to eat, like his papa.”

Colton lets the baby mouth at his finger, drooling on his knuckles. When he rests his hip against the counter, he can feel the slight pressure against his rounded belly. Artem gurgles happily, and Yana gives the pair of them a soft smile.


End file.
